


With Ellen On His Mind

by Sira



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sira/pseuds/Sira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the night before Galatica comes to save them all, two people meet, try to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Ellen On His Mind

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> A BIG thank you go to shayenne and sczep84 who looked this story over for me! Sorry for causing you two so much work.

Laura Roslin was pacing. Back and forth, like a caged tigress, all suppressed energy and anger. It took her eleven steps to get from one end of the earthen chamber to the other, and he had lost count of how often she had walked this distance.

There was something about her tonight, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, something he had seen in her eyes for the first time when they had talked earlier. Laura Roslin, the epitome of calm and strength was rattled, her composure shaken.

Maybe the worries that were weighing down on everyone were weighing down on her as well. The people on New Caprica were all asking themselves the same things. They were all worried.  
Would Galactica manage to save them? Was it even possible? And how many would have to die in the process? Hope was a traitorous thing, its flame seldom strong enough to drown out the doubts.

Roslin seemed to have her fair share of doubts if her behaviour was any indication. Even if some people still liked to glorify her, she was a mere human being after all. She may have fooled others, but she had never fooled him.

So possibly it was these thoughts troubling her. Or could it be something else. What did he care? His respect for her had grown the last year but it didn’t mean he had to like her. He just didn’t care about anything right now. Not about Roslin. Not about the people. Not about himself. Least about himself.

“Are you going to stand in the dark all night or do you want to come in?” Roslin’s voice rang out suddenly, and although she had clearly been addressing him, she was staring at the earthen walls. He stepped in. Why not? He was no coward, no secret stalker. His ire rose as he watched her pace.

Few women irritated him as Laura Roslin did and he wondered what it was about her that grated on his nerves. Her air of superiority? Her way she gave one the feeling she thought she always was right.

He knew who he was, what he was. He’d never been the brightest, never been the most polished. Problems stalked him, never far away. He’d drowned any small sorrow with alcohol since he was a young man and in bad times had drank himself to near oblivion The war had changed them all and most of them not for the better.

Still, there were some things in which he trumped her. Commanding a ship, surviving in times of war. A schoolteacher playing president, and hardly anyone seemed to mind. Although times had changed, and she was a simple teacher once more.

The barren room held only a cot, a table, and a crate on which two candles stood. He leaned against the wall.

“What’s crawled up your ass” he asked.

She stopped pacing, looked at him for a long moment, accessing assessing him. Then she turned away. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but I am in no mood to answer rhetorical questions,” she said, before she continued to pace. Back and forth. Again and again.

She didn’t bend easily, he had to admit it. Even when she’d been thrown into detention she hadn’t budged. One of the Cavils had told him in great detail while beating him up. The Cavil hadn’t beaten him because he had a reason, even a fake one. No, he had done it just because he could. But he had learned one thing during that time. They hadn’t dared lay a hand on Laura Roslin for worry it would rouse people’s sympathies and their will to fight the cylon regimen.  
The same wasn’t true for him. No one cared if he was tortured or not. He was just an old warrior. Useless. Disposable. And now one eye short. There was no use in lingering in the past. Only one person had cared.

Ellen. She had gotten him out of detention. But the price… it had been too high.  
He brushed the thought aside, couldn’t bear it.

The longer Roslin remained quiet, the longer he was alone with his own thoughts and the worse he felt. The memories clawed at him, mocking him as a murderer, a loser, a human being unworthy of living. What kind of man killed his own wife? A soldier. It had been the soldier. The soldier’s decision had been a cruel, albeit sound one. The man couldn’t forgive him though.  
Looking at Roslin now, she too seemed haunted by her own demons. This wasn’t the pacing of the politician contemplating her next step. He had seen enough of that to recognise it blindfolded.

“You going to stop that any time soon?” he asked, wondering if one could become seasick watching her.

“Feel free to leave.”

 

And again she ignored him. It grated his nerves.

He wanted alcohol, wanted it more than he wanted his next breath. He wanted Ellen. Both were not possible. The latter… forever, the former… he would hold it together until they made it back to Galactica: After that, who cared if he drank himself to death?

Irritated, he stepped into the woman’s path, forced her to stop. She did so, glaring at him in annoyance. He’d expected the annoyance; what he hadn’t counted on was the naked terror, the desperation. If it’s possible to worry oneself to death, Roslin might manage it.

In the second he looked into her eyes, he saw the same terror he felt in his very bones; the terror ingrained in them from living under cylon occupation. For months, no one had known who would next end up in detention. No one had known who was in league with the cylons and who was not. And no one knew if they’d still be alive tomorrow.

Was he the only one who wasn’t sure which was the better alternative?  
Roslin’s shoulder sagged, and in the blink of an eye the aggressive woman was replaced by a weary one. She had run out of energy, just like that. It wouldn’t do.

“Dammit, woman, get a grip.”

Her head shot up, a trace of her usual fire back.

“You have no right-“

“True. Try to stop me.”

She looked as if she were about to slap him once more. He wouldn’t mind. The last time she had, he’d been furious. But now… Any physical pain would be better than the mental one from which there was no escape. But she didn’t. Instead her eyes bored into him.

Frak her. Although he hadn’t tried for a physical reaction he could have done with it. Needed it. Needed something to anchor him to reality, stop his drifting if only for a moment.

Strangely enough there was the same need in Roslin’s eyes. Frak again. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to think about her, but was unable to stop both. There was a cold fire lurking behind the misery, and out of the blue he couldn’t shake the sudden thought that Roslin was an attractive woman. Where this thought had come from, he had no idea. Still, attractive or not, it was clear Roslin suffered her own demons. How did it feel to survive the cylon attacks, to flee from your enemy, only to be saved by their blood on your deathbed?

“Can’t wait to see the Admiral again?” he tried another cheap blow.

As he’d hope, there it was again. Anger, sharp, bright and warming. Again, it dulled almost instantly. Damn her.

“Go away, Colonel.”

Did she think she could command him like that, discard him as if she were his superior? He didn’t answer His own anger wasn’t as warming as hers has been. Out of instinct, out of madness, he pulled her even closer, leaned down to press his lips onto hers. She didn’t push him away, instead she bit his lip, making him withdraw with a hiss.

“No kissing,” she said. “Just not that. I can’t.”

He could only stare. For a moment, he doubted what he had done, what he had considered doing. Had he lost his mind? He didn’t love Roslin, didn’t even like her, and she didn’t have any feelings for him. And she was Bill’s girl. He should go and find some place to sleep, to be alone, to be… miserable. Then the thoughts would come. They always did. No, he didn’t want to think of Ellen, of what he had lost, didn’t want to regret his miserable life. Who had decreed that everyone had to bend when Bill Adama wanted something? Wasn’t he the one who still had his son around? And doubtless Kara was still alive and would be a pain in their combined asses again. Bill had lost less than most of them. Even now he had the comfort and warmth of his ship while they were freezing and miserable down here.

What did he have? Nothing. He had lost the only person important to him. If he walked away now, it would be only him and his pain, Ellen's voice taunting his mind, and if he dared to close his eyes he would think he could catch her scent. He couldn’t bear it. Not now.

Focussing on Roslin, he found her eyes watching him, boring into his. What did she see when she looked at him? A loser? Someone not deserving of the credit Bill gave him. Did she see anything at all? There was such a profound sadness in her gaze. That she allowed him to see it should tell him anything he needed to know.

“Say no now, or…,” he gave her a last chance. He hadn’t sunk this low to force himself on a woman.

She shook her head. “Don’t give me time to think.” She closed her eyes. He understood. Walking her backward, he guided her to the table, hoisted her up on it. This was wrong on so many levels, but he didn’t want to consider the possible repercussions. Kissing her neck, nibbling at the skin none too gently, he felt his desperation sour in his mouth. Still, even though he was disgusted with himself, his cock hardened in reaction, and his hands moulded around her breasts, kneading the flesh through her heavy knitted sweater. This wouldn’t do.

Reaching for the hem of the garment, he lifted it over her head, letting it fall behind her. Would she freeze? And what would he do if she did?

She still wore a bra, but he didn’t take it off. His hands lingered at the clasp, but it felt wrong, Who knew when someone would come to find them?

As if sensing his hesitation, Laura growled. “If you want this, then tonight. We don’t have all year.”

So much desperation, so much strength in such a lithe body. For a moment, he almost felt sympathy, but he knew she wouldn’t want it. Not from him, most probably from no one. Lifting her breasts over the cups of her bra, he bent his head, took one stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking at the tiny bud. The feel, the taste, was so different from Ellen. It felt…nice though. Warm. Arousing.

She moaned, one of her hands holding his head close, her fingernails digging almost painfully into his scalp. It was sensation, delightful sensation. Just for a second, pleasure and pain drowned out anything else. He wanted more of it.

Want, need, desire, fear, depression - there were too many feelings, and he didn’t want to analyse any of them. Letting go of Roslin, he reached for the fastener of her pants, undid them as quickly as he could. Swiftly, he shoved her pants down, dragging them off one leg so he could spread her thighs. He reached for his own pants, but he looked up and everything inside him froze. This wasn’t Ellen; she wouldn’t feel like Ellen. His hands trailed over her naked legs of their own accord, the skin so smooth, smoother than the skin of his late wife. Roslin had nice legs. He should’ve known. Bill had always had a thing for legs. Yeah, even he had noticed them when Roslin wore one of her skirts, but somehow it had never interested him before. Now, he revelled in their softness, their utter femininity.

She shook her head. “It won’t work this way.”

How could she sound so uninvolved?  
She wasn’t. Pulling him closer, she kissed his neck, bit his jaw, all fury and frenzied despair. It should turn him off, but his body reacted, his cock twitching, his flesh achingly hard. Out of instinct, he shoved a hand under her panties, her sex so soft to the touch. A small groan slipped his lips. At least she was wet, although not as wet as she’d probably be for Bill. Would it do? His conscience couldn’t help but wonder. He had one, no matter what people liked to think.  
But she wanted this, didn’t she?

“Don’t hesitate, do it,” she commanded in the tone he hated so much.

Sliding one finger into her, his thumb rubbed over her clit, and every time a subdued moan reached his ears, he felt like cheering. Roslin might not like it, but she was feeding from his hand now, wasn’t she? Or was she simply allowing him to take her. The thought made him growl, and pulling his hand away, he lifted Roslin off the table and turned her, his hand pushing at her shoulders to bend her over. Roslin snarled, yet complied, a compliance borne out of wanting something from him, even if it was only a temporary relief.

He saw more than people gave him credit for. People wondered why he’d stuck with Ellen, how blind he was to stick with her. He hadn’t been blind, just willing to pay the price to be with her. It still made him a fool, but there was a difference. It might not matter to anyone, but it mattered to him. He shoved Roslin’s underwear down and she kicked it free until it dangled from one toe. He watched, using the time to free his erection.

“Frak, what are we doing here?” he muttered to himself. He hadn’t expected her to answer but she did.

“Forgetting. Trying to find the strength to deal with tomorrow.”

It was a true answer, practical, one you would expect from Roslin, but he heard the note of fear in her voice. Not fear of the act, but fear of the unknown. He understood. He knew.

Maybe it was that note of understanding that made him enter her slower, with more care than expected, sinking into her tight heat bit by bit. She still could be wetter, but it would do, and he knew her anguished moan didn’t stem from any physical torment.

Consciously looking at the woman in front of him, he found her bracing herself on her forearms, her hands curled into tight fists, her body taut. Still, she pushed back into him, urging him to find a rhythm, then to go harder and faster. It felt good, the sensations were good, each time he slid into her to the hilt, pleasure replacing sorrow. It made him wish this could last forever, at least for longer than his body would allow him. He had nearly reached a level where he had forgotten everything but this moment in time, when she pushed against him hard, making him stumble back a step. He wanted to curse, then he saw she was using the space she’d created to slip a hand between her legs to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts. Somehow he was thankful she did, didn’t want it to be a one person performance. In earlier years, he had prided himself that he knew how to please a woman, but he didn’t think Roslin would even let him.

Just don’t think about her…just don’t think about her… Pounding into her, he remembered Ellen, thought he inhaled her scent, heard her raucous laugh, her deep moans. Ellen loved to laugh during sex, she knew how to enjoy it. If he just focussed focused enough, he could almost hear her. Then the illusion shattered, all thanks to a small sound, a desperate hum, followed by Roslin’s inner walls clenching around his cock. Another sound, a small whimper, and he wondered who she saw in her mind’s eye. Bill? Of course Bill, who else?  
Not that he was any better. He didn’t want Roslin, only the comfort her body offered him. Was it shallow? Yes. But did he use her? No, he was used just as much. Allowing himself to let go, he thrust harder, faster, the sounds of their frakking almost too loud in the still environment.  
For a few seconds he relinquished his grip on reality and imagined it was Ellen. He reached the edge and crashed over it, his silent release making his body shudder in reaction. For now, his worries were gone, the mocking voices quiet.

Peace. For a few seconds.

When his body stilled, he knew his reprieve was over. Thoughts like ‘what have I done?’, ‘what have we done?’ wanted to set in, but he batted them away.

Pulling out, he quickly dressed himself, Roslin following his example.

He didn’t know what he would’ve done next, maybe slide out like a coward, but she spoke to him.

“What happens on New Caprica stays on New Caprica.”

Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed her. She didn’t want Bill to know.

He didn’t want him to know either. He only had one friend left, - the best he’d ever known.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You should get some sleep.” Should he tell her about the love bite he’d left?  
He was too tired to do it, couldn’t change it anyway.

Turning, he had merged with the darkness when she called out after him.

“So should you.”

Maybe he should. But he knew he wouldn’t.

He would repent.

Yearn for a drink.

Wish he was dead.

Think of her.

Ellen.

Always Ellen.

The End


End file.
